


Like a Knife

by tarbaby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, HP: EWE, Tattoos, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarbaby/pseuds/tarbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco got his second tattoo for the same reason he'd gotten his first: love--and fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for allusions to torture, blood prejudice, and murder--or Death Eaters, to put it simply. To make a long conversation short, my friend couldn't picture Draco with a(nother tattoo) and I interpreted it as a challenge.

The spell hurt like a knife in his gut. His aunt had liked to tell him nothing hurt more—at least, nothing you could accomplish without a wand—and she’d run her tongue along the cold steel of her blade until blood filled her mouth like wine, left tracks on her white chin as it spilled over. She’d told him how they’d screamed, _filthy Muggles_ ; they’d never known such pain—thought they’d never know anything worse—but they’d soon learned. Aunt Bella had taught them, just as the Dark Lord had taught Draco there were spells far more agonizing than the ones everybody knew. He’d taught Draco to keep his mouth shut until he ground his teeth into the gum. He’d taught Draco to endure torture far more excruciating than a tattoo and to appear still as glass all through it, but no one ever learned not to feel pain. 

It took work not to scream. His lips were mottled under the insistent pressure of his teeth; the skin would soon burst and the bite of unshed blood tasted heavy in his mouth. His jaw was clenched and his fists and his lids; it felt like his whole body was. The veins in his neck stood out, tight and thick, like Muggles strung up in the sky. He struggled to keep his breathing even and he wouldn’t allow the tears to fall, though the artist had no doubt seen worse from people with far less to cry about. As a rule, Draco hid his weaknesses behind closed doors and it was bad enough that she had to watch him suffer without watching him do it like this was the first time. She could carve a hundred scars across his skin; he refused to hand her proof that she’d broken through his defences.

It wasn’t that he expected her to use it against him. What could she say, after all? ‘Malfoy had an entirely human reaction to a tattoo that's probably illegal'? The confidentiality agreement she'd signed might not even allow her that much and Merlin knew she wouldn’t try to break it, but old habits died hard. During the war, Draco had fought for every scrap and shred of pride. He tried not to resent the woman when she asked, “You’re sure you won’t accept a Pain Relief Potion?”

He choked out a laugh, only a little strangled, and he shook his head. “The Dark Mark was worse, Kamara, and the Cruciatus, too. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the spell thrives on pain. I have to suffer now if I want—to spare her. I need. The spell must know how much pain I’m willing to endure, or I’ll spare her nothing.”

“She might not even come under attack—”

“I know my enemies a little better than you do, Kam.” He knew his father—knew Lucius was still young enough to produce another heir and ruthless enough to do it even if filicide drove his mother from the house. The Malfoy patriarch loved his wife (and his son), but his duty had always come before them both. When he found out that Draco loved Ginevra—that Draco planned to spend his life with her—Lucius would kill her, if that’s what it took. He might do it even if he knew that any curse he performed on Ginny would rebound on Draco because he wouldn’t think his son brave enough, or stupid enough, to risk his life for a bloodtraitor, whether or not she wore his ring. Draco himself didn’t know if he could’ve brought himself to jump in front of a Killing Curse, so he’d made it impossible for anyone to do any lasting damage at all.

It was the only way to protect her against the most serious threats to her life, though he didn’t know how he’d explain it. He’d never liked body art for its own sake—and Ginny probably wouldn’t believe him if he said otherwise, but he could think of no better explanation. Knowing her, she’d probably pick up the dark magic and assume the worst, but as long as it was only visible on his body and not hers, he could pass it off as something that it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell his fiancée the tattoo’s true purpose because she’d only try to undo the spell and it had taken him a long time to develop. If he’d had more time, it might not have required so much pain: his bottom lip burst open and he could feel the blood in the palms of his hand, the strain in every one of his muscles, but he’d die before he ever let Ginny know that he was trying to save her.

She’d never understand: Weasleys didn’t do secret oaths or binding spells disguised as sleeping dragons, and she’d fight it if she knew. Maybe fight him ‘til he screamed, and it wouldn’t have been worth the raw feeling in his throat or the mess of his skin. This was. This was worth the tears when they began to fall at last and the cry that parted his lips as the dragon took shape on the razor-sharp bone in his hip. This was what it meant to love a Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments, constructive criticism, etc. are always appreciated ♥.


End file.
